Tom and Jerry's Whiskey
by 350ml
Summary: In which the Team learns that babysitting is hard.
1. 0: Prologue

**Tom and Jerry's Whiskey**

_Prologue._

* * *

Four-year-old Harland Ryker wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. Especially adults. Adults he did not 'know nor recognise'.

That being said, Harley also wasn't supposed to ignore adults either, because that was rude and Daddy did not like it when he was rude. It was one of his _rules_. Like how he's not supposed to wear his shoes inside the house, or climb around on the sofa, or watch Roadrunner before dinnertime. Things that if he did do, and Daddy found out, he'd most certainly get a stern talking to because of it.

But Daddy isn't here right now, which isn't that usual - Daddy has to go to work in his impressive uniform and move soldiers around. So that's ok.

Thing is, Miss Roosevelt, the lady Daddy has looking after him sometimes, isn't here either and neither is Uncle Burke, Daddy's friend from _back-in-nam', _who only came on special days like is birthday, or Daddy's birthday, or Christmas, or In-dee-pen-dance Day.

In fact, Harley doesn't recognise any of the adults here at all.

These adults were _strange_.

The strange adults had come for him when he was still in Preschool, when he was playing Lego with Sam, who was getting on his nerves because he kept on taking the bricks apart when he was trying to keep them together. It wasn't like when Daddy or Miss Roosevelt came to pick him up, because it wasn't lunchtime and none of the teachers had got his things together yet. In fact, the teachers looked pretty surprised and sad to see him go, even though he'd surely be back tomorrow morning. They kept on looking at him funny, like they sometimes did when they saw things on TV, things which never seemed to happen in DuckTails or Roadrunner or Tom and Jerry. Like the way Daddy looked when he surprised him and asked about Momma sometimes.

Still, even if he isn't supposed to be with the strange adults, it's not all that bad. They let him watch Roadrunner when he asked, too the floor, so he really wasn't speaking _to_ them and even though he's not supposed to watch TV before dinnertime.

He sits in a room that looks pretty similar to Daddy's home office, with bookshelves and a big desk with a laptop. Though it's not completely like Daddy's office, because it's got a big TV and a bunch of things that really aught to be in the kitchen, like a kettle and microwave.

One of the strange adults goes up to the half-kitchen-that-really-shouldn't-be-there and comes back with a chocolate biscuit. Although he doesn't break Daddy's rule by taking to her, he rather likes the stern looking woman who picked him up from Preschool. She's got a uniform like Daddy and when she speaks to the strange adults, they always do what she says and she doesn't even have to shout.

She sits next to him on the other side of the sofa, looking towards the screen just when Wile E. Coyote started throwing lightning bolts at the Roadrunner. Slowly, she hands him the biscuit and because he doesn't want to be rude, he takes it. "Your name is Harley, right?" She asks after a few moments and Harley looks towards the screen, he doesn't know what to do. "Harland?"

Daddy said he's not supposed to talk to adults - and these adults were strange, which means he's doubl- no, _triple_ not allowed to talk to them.

But, Daddy also said that he's not to ignore adults either and he never said that it was ok to ignore some adults and not others. Perhaps he has to be polite to all of them. Even _strange_ ones.

The stern lady looks towards the door and bites her lip. "My name is Maria," she says then. "Maria Hill."

Harley swallows his mouthful of biscuit and looks away from the screen, towards the floor.

"Is my Daddy hurt?"

It's been a question on his mind since he came to the boring old office building with the strange people. Daddy never got hurt, but Harley has been told that it could happen if he wasn't too careful at work - which was ok, 'cause Daddy was always _very_ careful, but sometimes bad things happened anyway, even when everyone was being super careful and Harley wondered if it was one of those times. Like what happened with Momma and Uncle Burke's leg and Miss Roosevelt's pet Dachshund Buck and New York.

Maria looks at him for a long time and just when Harley thinks he's done a bad thing and he shouldn't have been talking, she shakes her head. "Oh, no. Your Daddy's fine. You'll... see him soon."

Harley nods and pushes the rest of the biscuit in his mouth, turning towards Maria and looking at the funny looking pin on her lapel. He frowns, he's seen something that looks just like that before. "My Daddy has a pin like that." He says, because he'd rather not be rude and Maria doesn't seem as strange as she did a few minutes ago. She looks down to the pin and removes it, it's small and sharp in the palm of her hand.

She looks at him for a pretty long time after that. "I bet your Daddy has lots of medals, huh?" Harley nods - his Daddy does have lots of medals. They're all neatly ordered in a glass box on top of the fireplace, something he's not allowed to touch because it's one of Daddy's Rules. "To get a pin like this you have to be really brave - just like your dad. Just like _you_ were coming in here." Moving over towards Harley slowly, Maria pins it onto his Transformers t-shirt and he touches it, making the TV reflect against it. Although he'd rather not, it makes him smile. Brave. Perhaps Daddy won't mind that he talked to a stranger when he finds out he got this.

The door over near the back of the couch is opened loudly and Maria turns towards it, expression pulled into something angry but blank at the same time. Harley turns around too and his smile instantly drops of his face, surprised.

He wasn't expecting this.

There is a pause of silence and because the person he is talking to now isn't a stranger, Harley frowns.

"You _died_."

And it's true, 'cause Uncle Phil had to be buried after the bad guys broke New York.


	2. 1: Hindsight

**Tom and Jerry's Whiskey**

_Chapter One_

* * *

Of course it would have been this. Out of all the things that could possibly have happened today; Stark, HYDRA, _Asgard_... it had to be this.

No matter how many times Agent Phillip Coulson replayed the events in his head, he couldn't think of another possible outcome. And he hated it. He wasn't going to lie, he was a little impressed with how quickly S.H.I.E.L.D. reacted to it all, despite it's fragile nature, but he couldn't but help feeling a little... abused... in the process. It's not because he wasn't asked - when in S.H.I.E.L.D. one gets accustomed to 'not being asked' pretty quickly - but rather he just couldn't help but feel they were a little to quick to just shove the whole problem onto him. Surely, someone at some point must have looked at this and come up to the conclusion that, actually, it may not be such a good idea after all.

He's been dead to his family for the past year and a half. It's not a 'good' idea.

_Well_, he notes with a small grump as he stands before the door that leads into Hill's office, _if was such a bad idea, then you should have said no. _

Coulson could have, that he does know. He could have proven that it was too dangerous, and if not that, then at least too difficult. S.H.I.E.L.D. would have then dropped the matter, they would have sent the boy away with a security detail, found him somewhere safe. Keep him somewhere out of mind until they fixed the mess they helped create. It's not really his job to go around babysitting children, but then Coulson just winces and steps away from the door. He doesn't know. With this child in particular, it might just be.

Especially if something happened.

He shakes his head. There's no point thinking about things like that. They'll get the man back. They have to. If not them, then someone else will - American Generals do not just vanish without anyone noticing and even then, Coulson will, if it comes to it. He might be 'dead', but family is family at the end of the day. That he's pretty certain.

He just hopes it doesn't really come to that at all.

Standing just before the door, Coulson glances over his shoulder, grimaces and turns towards the door again. How the hell is he going to do this? Slam the door open and shout 'Surprise!' ...? He doubts that is a good idea, even if Hill's reaction would be pretty worth it. Just walking in seems like a good idea, but what's if he gives the poor kid a heart attack? Coulson knows that Harland has been told of his... demise. Even been brought to the grave a few times.

The whole thing seemed a lot easier in theory then it does now. _  
_

Wincing his eyes shut, Coulson pinches the bridge of his nose. S.H.I.E.L.D. grade training did not prepare you for everything after all, it seems. Frowning at the door, the Agent just grits his teeth. He can do this, of course he can do this. He's not... terrible with children and even though it's been at least two years since he's seen Harland, he can't be that much of a problem, if the way he reacted to Hill was any indication. That and at the end of the day, he has a team of individuals who can handle dangerous Tesserat-esc artefacts. So how tough can guarding a kid be, really?

Spurred on pretty unexpectedly, Coulson finds himself pushing through the door and taking in a breath, about to speak...

Though, when he spies the head of curly dark hair sat before a flashing cartoon episode, whatever pathetic awkward greeting he had ready just shrivels up and sodding combusts with a sad little gasp. Hill spins her head around, one arm over the back of the sofa, expression flat and most certainly displeased. Though said displeasure seems to melt of her face when she looks back at the suddenly tense pint sized four-year-old beside her, who has since turned around completely and stood up, studying Coulson appraisingly with his crystalline blue eyes.

Jesus Christ, he's grown.

Harley stares at him for a few seconds and what was at first pretty intense shock soon dissolves into a pissy sense of suspicion. He frowns, looking so much like his damned father it's eerie.

"You _died_." He suddenly says, the accusation in his voice clear and Coulson bites into the inside of his cheek without meaning too.

Well... damn.

Moving in rather sheepishly, Coulson exhales and turns towards Hill, tipping his head towards the door and giving her a look that doesn't allow for argument. If this was anyone else, he would have to have started being persuasive on a level that is borderline frustrating, but Hill has always been an understanding individual when it came to... these things, if nothing else. She just nods, mutters a farewell to the boy and walks out the room behind him. When he hears the door click shut, he looks back at his nephew again. He's no longer scowling, but whatever agitation that comes with seeing your supposedly dead uncle hasn't quite vanished yet either.

Still. He has to give Harley credit - most kids would just burst into tears.

Coulson looks towards the screen and tries to think of a way to answer his accusations without actually answering.

"What do you mean, Junior?"

His nephew seems rather taken aback by this and he scrunches up his nose. "Daddy said you..." he pauses, as if trying to get the wording right absolutely right. "... erm.. 'aught it at work."

_Bought it at work_, yeah, that's his father all right.

"No, no." he tries to reassure. "I was... very, very poorly, but S.H.I.E.L.D. made me better."

"Shield?" Harland frowns.

"My work." a few years ago, something like this would have begun a string of 'Whys', but Coulson avoids any form of this by turning around and opening the door, glancing into the hallway. Seeing it empty, he turns back around and extends a hand, patiently. "Come on. Lemme' show you something."

The kid doesn't take his hand, but he has climbed over the back of the sofa to stand before him. He's not as tall as he expected, actually. Though considering how tall Coulson and his sister are, he's not that surprised on that account. "Maria said you are gonna let me see Daddy." he says, the faintest of frowns threatening to form.

Well that's not going to happen. Coulson grits his teeth slightly. "You'll see him later." he just promises, "C'mon or you won't get to see it."

"But I wanna see Daddy now."

_Believe me you kid, you're not the only one wants that. _Coulson just takes the boy's hand and gently yanks, leaving the room and walking down the corridor. All the while, Harley becomes pretty damn desperate, telling him over and over, "No F'il, I wanna see Daddy. S'important, I wanna see him." Despite everything; being in an unfamiliar place, Coulson's rather abrupt return, everything, the four-year-old just fights him the whole way, yanking on his hand with every bit of strength available in his little body.

Eventually, just to save face, Coulson picks him up too. Even though he's got a very strong grip, the boy continues to wiggle and squirm.

To say he's relived when he spots Ward walking out from behind a wall on the way towards the runway is a bit of a God damn understatement.

"Hey Ward." He greets, walking right up to the younger Agent and plonking Harley into his arms before he can even fully register anything. "Hold this."

Momently confused at the change in who is holding him, Harley wrenches his head up to stare Ward straight in the face. The boy's bright blue eyes met Ward's mahogany brown for the first time and although something did indeed spark between them, Coulson was pretty sure it wasn't love. "DO NOT WANT!" he roars, hoarsely,and brings a pudgy little hand up to slam it into Ward's surprised face. "Get offa' me, freak-face!"

_~How tough can guarding a kid be_..?~

Hindsight, ladies and gentlemen, is a bitch.


	3. 2: Canterbury as in British Canterbury

**Tom and Jerry's Whiskey**

_Chapter Two_

* * *

"Hey Ward, looking good."

Sat at the top of the cargo bay door, Skye grins as an unhappy looking Coulson and a struggling Ward make their way down the runway towards the plane. She's stretched out with her shoes kicked off and seems content in just watching them as she uses the cargo door as an impromptu sun bed. The weather is unexpectedly sunny for the middle of Autumn and she's taking advantage of it. Ward on the other hand, is holding Coulson's squirming four-year-old nephew with what might just be every last bit of strength he has. Harland seems to hate Ward with every last fibre of his being and while Coulson doesn't suggest it, this fight is actually about five years overdue; General Ryker has met Ward a few times, and he wasn't too keen on the Agent then either. He doesn't really know why. Something about Ward just seems to rub Ryker men the wrong way.

As if to confirm his speculations; "Mista' Ward, you're stupid." the toddler shouts, making Coulson turn his head with a vague sense disapproval and Skye bark out with laughter. She dusts herself off and comes padding down towards them, smirking when Ward stops walking and in a last ditch attempt to get some form of control, decides to turn the kid upside-down. Ward doesn't tend to take abuse from anybody, so it's damned hilarious to see the beleaguered, almost angry expression on his face. He's clearly never had to deal with anything like this before. Angry four-year-olds aren't atomic warheads, even if they do have the same destructive capabilities.

Harley though, he's defiantly a fighter already and Skye doesn't find that unusual, not really, considering who the boy is related too.

"Lemme go!" the boy scowls, managing to somehow rotate himself with his constant flailing and kick one of his feet out, hitting Ward right between the eyes. They both fall over backwards into a pile on the ground and Coulson shouts, though doesn't do anything as the fallen Agent tries to both untangle himself from the roaring inferno that is Harland Phillip Ryker while somehow at the same time keeping the boy from running off.

Reaching into the pile of flailing limbs, Skye manages to peel Harley away from Ward, standing a few feet away. Preferring her to the Agent, or just generally exhausted after putting up so much of a fight, the boy just slumps against her shoulder, glaring at the floored Ward all the way. They stay like that for a few moments and Skye can feel her arms starting to strain. For a small kid, he's pretty damn heavy. Makes her wonder what the hell his father is feeding him. There is a lot of clanking coming from the plane, the sounds of the rest of the team drawing near and Coulson saves her the embarrassing image by approaching his nephew with a bit of concern, but mostly dispraised amusement. "You alright, Junior?" he asks, pulling his sunglasses off when Harley turns towards him miserably and reaches out his arms. "C'mere then," he grunts, pulling the boy from Skye's arms and bending back a little, trying to look Harley in the face. "You can't kick people, this is what happens when you do. People get hurt."

Harley gives Ward a long glance. Like he's not satisfied with the damage that he's caused.

Skye shrugs. "It's his ego more then anything, AC."

"I'm right _here_." Ward very nearly growls as he pulls himself up from the floor, batting at his trousers as he does so.

"You just got floored by a four-year-old."

"I wasn't expecting it." he defends, a little pathetically Skye thinks, but she does see his point. Harley doesn't do anything by halves it seems.

She sighs, "You ok?"

Ward shakes his head. "I'm fine." though he ticks his head towards Harley. "Surprising amount of strength in that one."

Coulson ignores this, prodding his nephew and ticking his head towards Ward. "What do you say?"

"No." Harley's eyes flicker with a pretty healthy amount of defiance and he squirms out of Coulson's grasp, who just lets him go this time and merely watches as the boy runs back over towards Skye. He half hides behind her legs, eyes narrowed and looking at Coulson as though he's daring his uncle to stop him. He's found an ally in her and he's putting it to good use, it seems. She meanwhile, doesn't object and just folds her arms, grinning. "Ward sucks."

"Yeah," Skye agrees. She's loving this. "Ward is pretty sucky, right?" The man himself waves his hand, powering up the cargo door and stalking off into the plane, murmuring something about a change of trousers. Harley glares at him until he's well out of eyesight. Skye watches him leave too, but eventually turns back to Coulson. "So what happens now?"

"That is what I would like to know."

They all turn their heads as Agent Qiaolian May stands further across the runway towards their left. She holds a black bin liner in one hand and when Coulson raises his eyebrow, she pulls a face. "We couldn't get to the house in time," she says in the way of reply. "The Federal Bureau of Investigation is all over it and I don't think it long before Central Intelligence will be joining in either. Getting his stuff is a no go for now."

"That quickly?" Coulson sounds worried, not enough for Harley to pick up on though, considering how it would probably set him off again if he figured out just _who's_ house the FBI was searching and for who, exactly. May seems to have realised at this point, or has some form of hunch either way, because she's being as complex as she can be without drawing suspicion.

May just nods her head. "That quickly." She turns her head to look at Harley and Harley in turn stares back at her. Not with the same stare that he had with Ward, with the uncalled for levels of sheer hate, but one that suggests thinly veiled curiosity.

Coulson tucks his sunglasses into his inner jacket pocket. "In that case, we'll need to be making some arrangements. The BUS is still scheduled for a B Check, so if we take it to S.H.I.E.L.D's site in Canterbury we can get everything sorted there, kill two birds with one stone." May nods and hands him the black bag, while Skye raises an eyebrow. One of her hands is resting atop of Harley's head and the boy looks towards Coulson too, though he has something entirely different on his mind, judging by his expression.

"Canterbury as in British Canterbury?" She asks.

Coulson nods, "Canterbury as in British Canterbury."

Harley doesn't join in with this, but simply makes his needs known.

"I'm hungry."

This seems to take Coulson aback slightly, and he pauses, trying to mental check-list of everything they have in the BUS. He's not sure they have anything he will like - and Harley strikes Coulson as being the kind of kid that is picky. Skye suddenly brightens, smirking widely. "Well it is lunchtime." she muses "- and Fitz has a stash of chicken nuggets that I'm sure he'll be _delighted_ to share."


	4. 3: Megatron

**Tom and Jerry's Whiskey**

_Chapter Three_

* * *

While he was undoubtedly elated at the idea of spending time with his nephew, Harley's presence, admittedly, tended to rub Coulson the wrong way.

It wasn't the boy's fault, of course - God, not at all. In fact if anyone was to blame it was him for even _thinking_ about it in the fist place. However regardless, it was just... hard... to enjoy Harley's company sometimes, if that was even the right word for it. Occasionally when the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent looked at the four-year-old, he couldn't help but see a condensed, baby faced version of General Daniel Lee Ryker standing there instead and _that_, rubbed Coulson the wrong way. It rubbed him the wrong way because out there, somewhere, said General is missing. Missing because someone in S.H.I.E.L.D. messed up. They negotiated with terrorists - there were _reasons_, why they did not negotiate with terrorists.

Mainly, it rubbed him the wrong way because he has to keep lying to the boy's face. They don't know if the General is 'Fine' or not, hell, they don't know where he is.

Harley favors his father more then his mother when it came to general appearance. So much so that it was downright terrifying. In fact, the only thing he seems to have inherited off the woman was her crystalline blue eyes, her height (though admittedly, that trait is not exclusive to just his sister...) and her insatiable curiosity. The rest of the boy just screamed 'Ryker'; dark hair, strong features. Give him a few years and he could pass for the General's ghost.

So when Coulson looked back over his shoulder to see a scowling Harley stood in the middle of the cargo area, he couldn't help but see General Ryker stood in his place. It's stupid, a really stupid thought but it happens none the less. And that bothers him. Enough for Skye to pick up on it pretty damn quickly - and just in time too, actually, because Harley was only a glance away from realising as well. Her gently posed, but none the less pointed look sets him straight and he exhales, turning back towards his nephew. The boy was pretty cautious, looking at everything and craning his neck up and down.

"Daddy 'as one." He says then, decidedly, looking at Coulson.

_Dammit_.

He blinks, pushing back those thoughts and jerking his chin up. "What was that, Junior?"

"Daddy 'as a 'lane like this." He repeats and Coulson raises both his eyebrows.

It's impressive how a four-year-old can tell the difference between the different military aircraft - but again, he's not surprised. It's pretty obvious that while he isn't some form of genius like FitzSimmons, or anything along those lines, he's still pretty intelligent. Perceptive. An observant, empathic little thing who picks up on all subtle little details that a lot of other people just tend to ignore. Coulson supposes that if the boy lived any form of normal life, with two parents that worked normal jobs, it wouldn't be an obvious trait - but General Ryker is a staunch disciplinarian, even if it is brought out in a gentle, understanding fashion when it comes to his son. So behaviors like this will probably come up a lot, he expects. Comparisons.

What Uncle Phil is doing differently from Daddy Ryker.

"Well, what do you think about it then?" he asks, because really - if General Ryker was here, Coulson would want his opinion. Defiantly. Just to see what pissy, grumpy reaction he'd get. Harley is the next best thing, he supposes and the boy looks around again, considering.

"S'big." He says, then frowns and shakes his head. "No. Little." he scrunches his face up and after a few seconds of trying to connect the dots together, Coulson understands when Harley points towards the lab. He's probably talking about the cargo hold - it is smaller then a standard Boeing C-17 Globemaster. That, he'll defiantly know. At least Coulson would think so - he's been in all sorts, that boy. Tanks to fighter jets. The 'Big' comment is pretty understandable. He'll assume it's big because, hell, it's big to Coulson and far larger then four feet tall. "Why?" Harley then asks, pretty suddenly and as he walks further into the plane, he wrenches his head up to look at the roof of the plane. When Coulson doesn't immediately answer, Harley looks back at him, expectant. The Agent internally grimaces.

Coulson thinks he's asking why the BUS is so big, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent is not exactly certain. Perhaps he's asking a far deeper philosophical question; why did he spend so much time and money on decking out what is now considered one of the most hi-tech mobile command units, when such expenses could clearly go somewhere else?

Ok, so perhaps he's _not_ asking that question. But still. Coulson wouldn't put it past him.

In the end, Coulson just shrugs, giving the toddler an redirecting question that shuts him up without actually putting him down.

"You can have a look and see why, if you'd like." Coulson murmurs, gripping the black bag with both his hands and looking inside. It's not much - really, it isn't. Just some things they managed to take from his Preschool. A navy duffle coat, plain green t-shirt, some kind of robot toy, which was shoved alongside a sports car model, two books - which when Coulson pulls them out, he realises that they are actually much older reading material then what he would expect of someone his age. Pippi Longstocking and Thunder and Lightnings. Both of them have dog eared pages and the covers are well bashed in - clearly, he has had them for a few years. Under all that was a few pens and pencils, loose drawings and what looked to be one of those big fat colouring books.

Enough to distract him for now, at any rate. Though to be honest, with everything that is going on, Coulson doesn't predict any bouts of boredom any time soon.

Still, better to be safe then sorry.

Grabbing the robot, Coulson pulls it out and looks it over. It's big - one of those toys a child would probably get for his or her birthday, if they were lucky. "And who's this then?" he asks. It looks unnervingly similar to one of Stark's inventions and Harley grins at the sight of it, running forwards with his arms outstretched.

"Megatron." Harley answers once the toy is in his grasp, looking at Coulson like he's being unbelievably dense and Skye snorts from her position leant up against the SUV.

"A Deception. Naturally."

Coulson just shakes his head. He's not going to pretend he knows. He's getting too old to keep up with kiddie trends. "Why don't we go show Fitz, hm?" he cups the back of the boy's head and gives him a little push towards the lab. "Fitz likes robots."

Harley pauses for a moment, and then shakes his head. "Fis' isn't 'aving Megatron."

"He's got his own robots, Junior. If you're good, he might let you have a look at them."

The meeting between the two final members of his team goes better then expected. Simmons is the first to introduce herself, with Fitz wisely staying to the sidelines, but close enough to make an appearance without making things awkward. That, and to be honest, Fitz probably wouldn't have been able to get in there first if he had tried. As soon as Simmons had looked up when the door opened, she was up and grinning almost immediately.

"Well hey there!" Simmons bends down to about half her height, voice faintly suggesting a friendly coo. "I bet you're Harley aren't you?"

Harley nodded at this, giving Simmons a fairly curious glance over. Like he's trying to guess how easily he can get her on his side too. Coulson will have to keep an eye on this little habit, least the boy winds up starting a revolution or something. Mutiny led by a four-year-old. Heh.

He looks at Fitz then, though his gaze is locked on for a considerably shorter time. Coulson clears his throat. "That's Simmons." he waves at the woman in question and then towards Fitz. "- And that's Fitz." half leaning against one of the work tables, Fitz gives a brisk, curt little wave. "Together though they're FitzSimmons."

Harley doesn't even sodding hesitate.

"Why they called that?"

"It's their nickname. It's what everyone calls them." Coulson bites his tongue as soon as it comes out of his mouth and it's too late when he realises that Harley is looking up at him, thoughtful look on his face.

"Why?"

Of _course_.

"Because it's a nickname they both like, Junior." he begins, hoping that just this once, it might be enough.

"Why?"

Taking more time with his particular answer, Coulson attempts to sound final. Perhaps, it might just convince him to knock it off. "Because they are friends. Like how I call you Junior and Harley, rather then Harland."

Nope.

"Why?"

"Because it's just something we do." Coulson sighs, regret and mild irritation sounding about ten inch thick.

Harley though, doesn't give a single damn about his uncle's apparent frustration.

"Why?"

"Because we just do, Harley." Simmons suddenly pipes up, "What Transformer have you got there?"

It seems to work, because Harley instantly turns towards her, holding the toy out. "Megatron."

Fitz nods idly, "Decepticons are way cooler then the Autobots."

Simmons turns slightly, arching an eyebrow. "The bad guys never win, Fitz."

"No, but they have a better paint job." Fitz smirks, nodding towards 'Megatron'. "Just look how funky looking he is."

Skye leans against the worktable and throws a wink at Fitz. "I bet your robots are even more awesome, though." Coulson can't help but nod at that and Fitz walks over to the other side of the room, Harley hot on his heels as he reaches up to get the carry box for the D.W.A.R.F.s, leaving Coulson and Simmons to watch from afar. It sunk in then, watching the three of them. Harley was here, he was officially back in Uncle Phil mode until they find Ryker. Hell. It could be permanent. Even if they do find Ryker - what's if he's in a bad way? How is Coulson supposed to handle that? The whole magnitude of the situation hit him hard, so he just shakes his head in forced grim amusement.

"Thanks for that." He tells Simmons when they are out of earshot and she just hums under her breath, poorly concealed humor evident in her expression.

A glance between them both and she just breaks down, smiling and shaking her head. "I have lots of little cousins, so I'm used to these sorts of questions." she says this distantly, it's not often that an Agent's home life comes up conversation. "I suppose when they are little, you don't have to tell them anything. They aren't asking you because they really want to know, they tend to do it because it's fun to ask and it gets a reaction out of you. Changing the subject tends to work most of the time." she then chuckles a little, like it's some kind of private joke. "At least he's not saying 'No'."

Coulson grunts.

"Just you wait."


	5. 4: Funny kind of day

**Tom and Jerry's Whiskey**

_Chapter Four_

* * *

**Fun Fact:** 'Harland' actually means 'Army land'. Fitting, ne?

* * *

When he registers something moving along near the foot of his bed, Coulson grunts himself awake, scowling so hard that some part of his subconscious warns about permanently denting his face. If this was any other scenario, it would be a testimony of his training and general sense of control that he doesn't immediately react by putting said something into a wristlock and snapping it's spine - but, there is no need for such responses today. So he just groans instead, bringing one hand up sluggishly to rub at his eyes. Blinking up at the sallow faint flicker of his bedroom light, the faint thumps of his team moving around a few rooms away draws him back, making him relax.

"Morning." Harley greets, making Coulson instantly tuck his legs in when the boy bounces too close to his abdomen for comfort. The boy continues to do this for a few moments, bouncing around without a damn care in the world and Coulson realises that at some point during the night, he'd managed to kick the covers off, leaving only his middle shins covered. Bringing his hand up towards the shelf that hung over above him, the Agent felt around for his wristwatch, very nearly knocking his spare handgun off as he does so. He yawns again as he checks the time.

Six fifteen.

It could be worse.

As if on cue, Harley jump on his knees, landing and then bouncing onto his stomach. "_Harland_." Coulson snarls thickly through a dry throat that feels like sandpaper and he exhales. It's not that bad - it's hardly the worst form of abuse he's been subjected to, but Coulson no more desires it then another sodding Asardian stabbing him in the back. He's too old to be getting abuse in the line of work. Not healthy.

"Get up now." Harley grunts and Coulson makes to shove him off, but the four-year-old isn't making it easy and evades him, clearly, he's had to do this before. "Breakfast time." he declares, still using his uncle as a trampoline and grinning with a peculiar sense of enthusiasm that Coulson can't understand, never mind hope to match. Especially this early in the sodding morning. It's great for the toddler, he supposes, since he's had a good ten hours sleep and clearly hasn't woken up distressed, but the whole bouncing affair isn't exactly agreeable for the Agent's intestines.

"Pick someone else's stomach to abuse, Junior." Coulson groans as he pushes the boy gently, making him fall face first into the mattress.

The four-year-old stays where he lands, cackling laughter muffled by the fabric, his brown hair a fuzzy little cloud that's catching the light filtering in the window. Again, the Agent yawns, covering his mouth with his wrist and wincing. Harley may have been well rested but Coulson for one, wasn't. He's not used to sharing a bed with anyone and the fact that he was sharing said bed with a muttering, kicking blanket hog only added to the unease. Of course, that only stopped him from dropping off well after midnight. For the three hours proceeding that, he was too deep in thought to even contemplate sleeping, despite being nigh on exhausted.

The video conference he had held with Hill hadn't improved his rapidly decreasing mood. If anything, it made it all the worse. Thankfully though, she understood. It wasn't down to exhaustion, mind. No, it was the lack of information and results that was bothering him. Whoever was involved with the negotiations with S.H.I.E.L.D. plus Ryker and his security had just vanished off the bloody surface of the Earth. Preliminary scans showed nothing, surveillance - nothing, the drones flying over countries that the terrorists were suspected of originating from, also turned up _nothing_. Clearly, said Terrorists knew what they were doing. They've managed to hide away this long.

And by God, he hates that.

Because not only does Coulson have to think about Ryker, captured somewhere and probably being subjected to God knows what, but he also has to deal with the man's kid. Harley isn't stupid, he knows something is up and while everything might be all new, exiting and a damn good distraction, he'll realise they are stalling at some point. He'll demand to know why and Coulson knows he'll be the one explaining when it does come to it, but he just... how was he going to explain what happened to his father? It wasn't like with his mother. Whenever Harley ever asked about Coulson' sister, both he, the boy's childminder and Ryker had been able to placate the boy with the simple answer: "Your Mom isn't here anymore, but she loves you very much." For Harley, Ellen was an absrtract sort of figure. A woman he only ever saw in the form of pictures scattered around his father's home.

But, Daniel Ryker wasn't - _isn't_, some isolated detail. He's the boy's father. A man who despite being weighed down by an massive amount of responsibility, managed to provide the same level of involvement with his son as a man who didn't work at all. He's stubborn, Ryker - it was once something that used to irritate Coulson to no end, but now... the Agent isn't too sure. Despite everything, Ryker was a very real and integral part of the boy's life. Very real. Realer then Coulson.

Harley tugs at his arm, half leaning over the side of the bed in an attempt to try and pull him off with his fairly unimpressive momentum. They didn't have any sleepwear for him on the BUS, so they had to make do with a t-shirt, Coulson's training gear, actually. It was hopelessly over sized, reaching to the boy's kneecaps, but it served it's purpose - Harley's trousers had remained clean, despite the mistreatment they suffered when he and Ward hit the floor and he had that spare green t-shirt to wear today. The transformers one had to be washed in the end, the dirt and gravel had darkened the fabric all up the back. As for the pin, Coulson would keep hold of that. Just for the time being.

"C'_mon_ F'il!" The boy grunts as he tugs, small hands grasping at Coulson's fingers as he braces his feet against the side of the bed, pulling all that little bit harder. So the Agent relents, breathing hard through his nose as he swings his bare feet around to rest against the floor, pulling his arm back to stop Harley from falling backward as he does so. Taking a moment to stretch his stinging muscles, Coulson jerks his jaw to the left and merely watches as Harley lets go, bolting off to the other side of the room and practically hurdling his clothes at his mildly disgruntled uncle.

"You're eager." Coulson notes, brow furrowed.

"Cus' we're gonna be late!"

The mood in the room changes almost instantly and Coulson diverts his gaze towards the boy's trousers. "Oh. That." he leans against his knees and sighs. "You know, Junior - it might... be a funny kind of day today."

"Why?"

"It just is." Coulson stresses and Harley gives him a more pointed look. Four-year-olds shouldn't have this ability mastered, or the ability full stop, but he guesses with his parents being who they are, he shouldn't be too surprised. Thing is, it's an ability Coulson too has mastered and after a few seconds of staring, Harley relents. Standing with a muffled grump, the Agent just rolls his eyes, trousers in hand. "C'mere then, the sooner you get dressed the sooner you can eat." that goes smoothly, thankfully and after a few minutes of frantic tugging and a bit of help from Coulson to tie his laces, the boy had bolted off. Ignoring the way the unexpected pang of dread rises in his chest, Coulson just eyes the general direction of which the boy vanished as he collects his own clothing.

If he's quick, he might be able to stop the boy before he turns everyone against him. Or something equally tedious and frustrating.

You know, as an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. you'd think he had more important things to be doing with his time.


	6. 5: The General

**Tom and Jerry's Whiskey**

_Chapter Five_

* * *

"How do you kill God?"

With eyes wide and her brow puckered in a way that promotes frown lines, his personal secretary, Lucinda, looks up from her laptop and gives her employer a fairly surprised and beat look. "I beg your pardon, Sir?" she blinks and in response General Ryker shrugs, waving his hand at her with a dismissive flair and turning on the heels of his shoes, walking into his office. He forgets how down-to-Earth Lucinda can be, enough for it to be inconvenient. It makes her a very good secretary and private affairs assistant, but not very remarkable when it came to topics of philosophy.

Still, while he may not have another person to engage in conversation with, the question of killing God is still on his mind and, so far, refrains from removing itself. So he sits back in his chair and frowns, propping his chin up as he thinks. In all fairness, it doesn't seem that hard. Killing God.

After all, what is God except a control freak with the power to back up his wishes?

General Ryker however, knows it's not that simple. The United States may be slowly recovering from a string of recent beatings, economical or otherwise, but it's the threats you can't see that are the most dangerous - and Ryker does know. Oh yes. S.H.I.E.L.D. pay plume itself on it's - somewhat remarkable, actually - ability to keep secrets, but the General is no fool. He knows.

Now, there are people who believe in fate. Those pointless little myths in the English Literature classes he used to sleep through during collage, they are full of them. Oedipus is philosophised to kill his father and marry his mother, and all his efforts to avoid it wind up just making it happen. Ragnarok will run it's course and all the gods shall die, no matter how wise or strong they happen to be... but, there is always a hero, he realises. Because they come up a lot in stories too. Interestingly enough. It's never the end of the world, no matter how perilously close it comes - that faint flicker of hope keeps on shining.

Although he's rather disembowel himself then say it aloud - Phillip is right to believe in heroes, and for a very creditable reason that Ryker may or may not understand.

But, General Ryker is also a realist and a professional and a perfectionist, so he's not going to sit around wait for star spangled heroes. No, he'll make his own progress. Thank you very much. He knows something big is going to go down. Soon. He can practically feel it and because he feels that it may be too late - he's going to act on it now.

Because he has a feeling that HYDRA believes in fate too.

Yes. General Ryker knows about HYDRA - he knows about it all, but, he also knows that they where never truly wiped out to begin with. He doesn't know where they are, exactly, but he's an intelligent man and he can have an educated guess.

Let it be said, that General Ryker is rarely wrong.

Then he laughs. HYDRA probably think they _are_ fate. His father fought against them, back then, and he seemed to believe that they have a master plan for everything and that no group of spandex'ed superheros and an upstart General are going to change how the world works. They'll find a way to put their messed up little version of history back on track, because that's what organisations like them do.

Except General Ryker is going to stop them and as he idly watches his clock, he knows that in some sense, it starts here. Today. So he smooths down the front of his uniform with his hand and jerks his chin up, like always, the front door slams shut and no sooner then the boy has managed to tear of his shoes and cross the expanse of the house, there is a knock at the door of his door.

And General Ryker smiles, but hell, how can he not?

"Enter."

His son does just that, proudly waving another colorful scrap of paper before him, grinning. Good day at Preschool then, he assumes and he kicks his chair back to lean on his elbows a little more comfortably. Some part of him doesn't want to leave and he's entirely positive that Harley is that reason - his son, his boy, the little wailing human he's been raising into a fine young man over the past four years, ten months and thirteen days. All with a full time job too, he might add.

Soccer Moms eat your heart out.

"Uh huh, and what did you draw this time?"

Harley tells him, per usual and then bounces immediately into a full account of his day. He steals a sideways glance at the TV, then at the expanse of his office and his gaze lingers on the sole photograph framed amongst the vast collection of Encyclopedias he happens to own (why, he doesn't quite recall - they just miraculously appeared at one point.) Then he looks back to his son and just smiles as he stands, ruffling a hand through his hair as he does so.

He's going to do this. All he has to do is stop HYDRA from pulling another stunt like last time. Nothing is inevitable and whatever plans they have set in motion can be stopped.

All the General has to do is kill the Gods who were formerly wrapped in Nazi flags.

So when one of those damned, dammed terrorists forces him before a cheap video recorder and presses the barrel of a rifle to the back of his skull, the General just smirks, because try all they might - he has plans of his own and a little fake Islamic Fanatic kidnapping won't cover it up. If anything, they've shown their hand way more then they should have. They know he knows, and they should also know that he won't stand for it.

Hiding in S.H.I.E.L.D., tsk - it's going to break poor Fury's black, shriveled heart.

But he's not doing it for Fury, nor is he S.H.I.E.L.D., or even America - he's doing it because four years ago he promised Ellen that he'd fight not for his country, but instead for a world that would be safe for his son to grow up in.

And to prove that he's still very much on that - that they haven't taken him down, that he's here, that he's watching them, that he's going to _win_, General Daniel Lee Ryker broadens his smirk into a shit eating grin and gives them a wink. It hurts, 'cause he's fairly certain they've fractured his jaw and wrecked his face, but it's worth it.

"God Bless America!"

It's the last thing he says before everything goes black.

But let it be said, that General Ryker always keeps the promises his makes.


End file.
